The Cheat Sheet: A Novel

“Wake up, sleeping beauty!”

I crack open my eyes to Bree hovering over the side of my bed. Her curls are tied up in a high ponytail and draping over the side of her face. The apples of her cheeks are splotched with pink, and I wonder if I’m still dreaming. I have to be. Why would Bree be in my room right now? The sun isn’t out. She’s a figment of my imagination.

I stare at her. What’s Dream Bree going to do?

She smiles, and I mirror her. If she raises her hand, I’ll raise mine too. Her soft brows crinkle together, and so do my bushier ones. This makes her laugh. “You’re being weird. Come on, get up! It’s Tuesday.”

I really hope this dream ends with us not going on a run. I glance at the clock on my bedside table and it says 5:00 AM. Now I know I’m still asleep. Bree is always trying to get me to sleep in, so she wouldn’t wake me up before 5:30.

It’s best if I just settle in and see what happens. I put my arms behind my head and watch her as she crosses my room to paw through my chest of drawers. She selects a black Nike t-shirt and grey athletic shorts. A balled-up pair of socks hits me in the face. I don’t flinch. Bree moves to stand at the foot of my bed, her eyes roaming over me. All that’s showing is my chest and abdomen, but Dream Bree likes what she sees. The pink splotches turn to red apples. Variety: Delicious. She’s wearing my favorite pair of short turquoise running shorts and a black tank top, neon yellow sports bra underneath. She puts her hands on her fantastic curvy hips.

I love dreaming. Because in here, there are no boundaries. No friend zones. Just me and Bree as we should be.

“You look like someone should be fanning you and feeding you grapes. What are you waiting for?” she asks curiously.

“Come around here and find out.” I’m sexy in my dreams.

Those brown eyes widen, but she complies. Her sneakers squeak a little with every step. Then she’s standing beside me, and I reach out and take her hand. Warm skin.

Oh no.

THAT’S REAL SKIN, PEOPLE!

This is not Dream Bree. This is real-life, actual-consequences-if-I-pull-her-under-the-covers-with-me Bree. And I need to quickly backtrack.

I look up and see her swallow her nerves. I feel her hand trembling in mine. We might have kissed the other night, but this is different. This is alone. In my room. I have no excuses here for talking dirty or holding her hand—and what I had planned just now is definitely not on the romance cheat sheet.

I tug her down a little so her shoulders hunch toward me, and then I pretend to flick something off. “I thought you had a spider on you. It was a piece of lint.”

“And you were just going to wait all day for it to bite me?” She slaps my bare shoulder. Crisis averted. “Some friend you are.”

Okay, time to switch gears. My brain is in a fog, but I force myself to clear it out. I sit up straighter and throw the covers off, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed so I can rub my hands over my face. My breath is rank. That should have been clue number one that this is real life.

“What are you doing here this early?” I ask her, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes. I stand up and stretch.

“I couldn’t sleep. So I thoughtwecouldgoonarunearly…” All of her words end in a pileup.

Turning to her, I see her unblinking gaze locked on my body. Right. I sleep in boxer briefs. Kinda forgot about that when I stood up. Bree looks like she’s in some sort of pain. Her mouth is still open, unfinished words dangling off her tongue.

I step toward her, trying not to smile. “Bree?”

She’s that famous painting now. She doesn’t move, but her eyes follow me around the room. “I shouldn’t be seeing you like this.”

“Probably not.” I don’t normally feel embarrassed in my underwear. I’m pretty used to my own nudity at this point. I’ve done ads for Jockey underwear, and also, you know, that whole form issue thing where I was completely naked. But this is Bree, the woman of my dreams, staring me down in an intimate way I don’t think anyone else ever has before. It’s like she’s matching puzzle pieces together to finally see the whole picture. Nathan loves strawberry Twizzlers + ah, that’s where his tan lines live. It’s unnerving.

“You’re…” Her words end there. She’s yet to look at my face.

Before I can stop it, embarrassment slides over me. I feel my face heating. “Can I have my clothes?” I extend my hand toward the bundle she’s clutching, but she holds it up and away from me.

“Not yet.”

I sputter a laugh because I don’t know what else to do. She’s ogling me. Very openly. This is new—and I’m not sure how to proceed. This is not on the list. “Do you think I’ll get them any time soon?”

“I suspect so, but the jury is still out.” She sounds like someone hit her with a tranquilizing dart.

“Okay, enough.” I step forward to take my clothes, but she holds them behind her back. She’s not going to let me have them. “What are you doing?” I ask, sounding just as amused and confused as I am.

“I don’t know.” Her eyes are bright. Excited. Fearful.

Our kiss the other night is humming intensely between us.

“Can I…” Her words hesitate again, and she sounds like she’s trying to keep all the air in her lungs. “I just want to…”

I suck in a noisy breath when Bree steps closer, raises her hand, and presses it onto my pectoral muscle. The palm of her warm hand is directly over my heart, and I know she can feel it knocking against her skin. I raise a brow and tell everything in my body NOT TO REACT. She swallows, staring at the place her hand is touching me, and then she abruptly breaks contact, foists my clothes into my arms, and dashes through the room toward the door.

“GREAT. MEET YOU DOWNSTAIRS.” My bedroom door gets slammed shut.

The front door slams next.

I blink and look down at my crumpled running clothes. “What. The. Hell. Was. That?”